Page 30 of How to Say I Do
Wyatt and I began a complicated game of hurling Jason into the waves, where the point seemed to be to fling Jason into the crest and then catch him as he sausage-rolled along the current. Each time, Wyatt would scoop Jason out and blow a raspberry above his belly button, and Jason would shriek, laughing like he was dying as his inflatable arm bands waved. Then it was, “Again! Again, Uncle Wyatt!” and I’d take hold of Jason’s ankles as Wyatt grabbed his wrists, and we’d swing him into the waves once more.
Hours later, Liam strolled back into the surf sporting a rogue’s grin. “Whaddya guys say to taking those jet skis out for a turn?”
Wyatt and Liam turned to me with identical looks, like they were hell-raising adolescents about to strap wings to their bicycles and hunt out the tallest hills. “Noël, you ever ridden on a jet ski?” Wyatt asked.
“Absolutely not,” I scoffed. “Only lunatics hurl themselves around the Hudson on jet skis.”
Half an hour later, I was clinging to Wyatt’s waist and shrieking into his shoulder blades, my fingers dug into the furrows of his abs, probably imprinting the whorls of my prints onto his intestines and liver. Wyatt was chasing Liam and Jason on a jet ski across what seemed like theentirewidth of the Atlantic. I clenched my thighs around Wyatt’s hips and buried my face in his back. Wyatt laid one of his broad hands over mine and squeezed.
“Hold on to the handlebars!” I screeched. “You’re going to kill us!”
Wyatt laughed. The sound fell over his shoulders and through me and into the wind. If I’d been brave enough to turn around, I might have seen it tumbling on the waves.
Eventually, Wyatt and Liam slowed down and circled up. All around us, everywhere you could see, was water and sky and the curvature of the Earth. We’d gone out so far, like they were trying to find Atlantis in the middle of the ocean. I prepared myself to soothe Jason, to mollify him and agree that yes, that had beenterrifying, and, yes, he waswonderfullybrave for being out here, and yes, his dad and uncle wereabsolutelyinsane.
But Jason was a McKinley all right, because as soon as the jet skis were bobbing next to each other, he leaped up on the running boards and shouted, “How cool was that? Dad! Let’s go again!”
I wilted. Wyatt threaded our fingers together and tossed me a grin over his shoulder. “You up for another round?”
I looped my thumb through Wyatt’s, trying to hide my bone-white knuckles. “I suppose.” My voice was hoarse from screaming. The horizon jackknifed like a seesaw. I wrenched my eyes closed and leaned into Wyatt. “I mean, helicopters go faster.” My pride was in tatters, but I tried to tug the last little threads together.
“You’ve ridden in helicopters?” Jason, bless him, still thought I was cool. He’d looked at me like I was Santa Claus himself when he’d heard I’d hosted the premier for theBlueymovie and had, in fact, personally escorted Bluey down the red carpet. I’d held back from telling Jason that the reason I’d been Bluey’s escort was because the actor hired to wear the Bluey suit couldn’t see more than two inches in front of him thanks to the mask, and, after fifteen minutes with the entire suit on, was in danger of fainting. Cartoon escort, helicopter rider, Uncle Wyatt’s new friend: I was a regular James Bond to an eight-year-old.
“Helicopters like inPAW Patrol? Like Skye’s rescue chopper? How many dogs fit in your helicopter?”
“Paris Hilton brought three dogs in her purse once. They got airsick, though. They made ahugemess.”
Liam howled. Wyatt hid his face as he clamped down harder on my hand, his shoulders shaking as he snorted and tried not to die.
“Cooool,”Jason breathed worshipfully.
Liam revved his engine. He checked Jason’s safety line and life vest, then shot Wyatt a look that meant Trouble.
Wyatt revved his engine in response. I whimpered and sank my face between Wyatt’s shoulder blades.
When both jet skis launched forward, Jason’s happy shouts burned through the tropical sky more loudly—thankfully—than my petrified shrieks.
Late afternoon blurred into a carefree evening. Dusk arrived on a marigold haze, the sun slanting across the beach to tangle with the low tide. Tiki torches started going up, smelling like smoke and fallen stars. Tropical birds argued in the preserve enclosing the resort.
It seemed like this beach on this slice of Earth was separate from the rest of the world, and what lay between us and everything else was filled with dinosaurs and time slips and improbable, impossible things, like cell phone towers and business emails and shit that made real life so hopelessly awful.
We were all indolent on the beach, content to do nothing at all. Savannah’s hair floated on the breeze, and Liam sat behind her, his lips moving in tiny kisses along the width of her shoulder. Wyatt and I sat together, so close the shadow from the brim of his hat fell across my face. He’d put his hat on as soon as we got back from trying to kill ourselves on the jet skis, same as Liam, because apparently sunburn was far deadlier than hurtling across the ocean. At some point, my cheek had ended up on Wyatt’s shoulder and my knees had toppled across his thigh. I could hear his heartbeat, steady, solid, and sure.
There were no set plans for the evening. No one wanted to get up, so we stayed on the beach as the fire pits sparked to life and the live band started tuning their instruments. The sun made its final drop toward the sea and disappeared with a rosy wink.
The beach band started playing party sets that brought out what felt like the entire resort. Couples twirled barefoot beneath string lights and garlands of tropical flowers. Liam dragged Savannah and Jason up to do the Macarena, and Jason tried, but somewhere in the middle of flipping his hands over, he started doing the hokey pokey.
“You’re doing great, Jase!” Wyatt called from our spot on the beach. “Perfect job, bud!”
Savannah’s golden strands, sun-pink shoulders, and Julia Roberts smile made her look like the happiest woman on Earth, counting down the hours until she married the love of her life. Liam looked like he thought he was the luckiest man who had ever lived.
Wyatt took Jason’s hand and let him stand on his big feet, moving him carefully around the edge of the dance floor like he was a mini Fred Astaire. I joined the two of them, swinging and dipping Jason as much as an eight-year-old boy allowed.
It seemed so natural to lace my fingers with Wyatt’s around Jason’s while the three of us were dancing, Jason playing monkey-in-the-middle. And it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to slide closer to Wyatt when the music slowed. When Savannah appeared, smoothly slipping Jason out of Wyatt’s hold, it was all too simple to turn to Wyatt and move into his arms and bring our bodies in line.
His large palm on the small of my back, mine resting on the solidity of his chest. Face to face, his breath on my lips, the heat of his skin so vibrant it was like standing in the middle of a flame. I had no more answers for myself now than I’d had hours before.
I was lost, drunk on the adoration Wyatt had spread across my tattered soul, and on the seized-tight hope that someone in this world wanted me. Days after being tossed aside, the idea of being cherished was as bright and warm and all-consuming as a nuclear blast.
